3 Things You Shouldn't Say to a Co-worker Who Stabbed a Guy Four Times

It was indeed fortunate that I was on good terms with Alice, my co-worker. I only needed to look as far as the local paper to find out what happened to those with whom she was on bad terms. She stabs them.

According to the newspaper article, she had stabbed a man who was thought to be dating her niece. Maybe it was self defense. The article went on to say she stabbed him four times and after he managed to run away, she chased him down the street. Maybe it wasn't self defense. As to whether it was premeditated, it was reported that she traveled, at 4am, from Crazytown to Stabbyville (Dartmouth to Spryfield) carrying with her a large knife and bear spray.

At work the next day, we read that she was charged with attempted murder. The next day we read that the charges were downgraded to aggravated assault. Two days after that we no longer had to read about her in the paper because she came back to work while awaiting trial. So what do you say to a suspected stabber (stabbist?). I went with the simple and casual "How're you doing?" She answered, "stressed". And we left it at that. She seemed calm and composed but I certainly didn't make it easy. It turns out it's very hard to avoid all stab related words and sayings. Within the first week of her being back, I made the following three faux pas. I saw her struggling with the price check machine so I helpfully offered, "Here, I'll take a stab at it". Later, I saw her using the little gun we use to attach tags to clothes (and using it rather recklessly I thought) and I said, "Careful, that's sharp" before remembering that she of all people understood the danger of sharp objects. And later in the week a group of us were talking about vacationing in Mexico and someone mentioned that it wasn't very safe and I countered with "Halifax isn't that safe either. Just walking down the street you might get sta...shot." I have a talent for making awkward situations a bit more awkward. Each time I make one of these slips I freeze and then glance over at her to make sure I haven't aroused any stabby urgings. So far, so good.

After she'd been back a little over a week, she started telling me about a dream she had. Normally I don't want to hear about people's dreams because they're stupid and boring, but I figured any dream she'd have would surely reveal some fascinating insight into a violent mind. I couldn't possibly pass up this opportunity. But I listened to her whole dream and she never got to the good stuff. It was mostly about her being back home in Africa and telling people there that if they were going to Canada they would need warm jackets. I chose to interpret this as representing her immigrant experience and being met in Canada with a figurative coldness (and likely jail time). I didn't say that though. I just said, "Yeah, it's freezing here."

I seem to be the main person she talks to at work. If anyone needs to tell her anything, they ask me to do it (including one time when they got me to tell her she wasn't entitled to another break because she was only working a short shift. I waited until she was finished using the scissors.) One day as she was leaving she stopped and touched my hair. I'm pretty used to this. For some reason people love touching my hair. But how should I interpret it in this situation? Was it a subtle warning? Was it a gesture of friendship? Do I have to visit her in prison? I wish I knew more about criminal etiquette.

June 1, 2047

I received some fantastic news today. It seems Walmart has some type of pension plan in place for its loyal longtime workers. Our personnel manager gave me a whole package explaining what I was entitled to and though I only briefly skimmed it, a date jumped out at me. June 1, 2047 is the day when I, at age 65, can retire. I believe I had what Oprah refers to as an "Aha Moment". Or in this case, it was more of a "Holy Shit! Moment". It dawned on me that if I don't leave, I'll still be here. Ellen, the personnel manager, also congratulated me on my five years with the company. She told me that she had already ordered me a new 5 year name badge and promised that there would be some type of presentation at the morning meeting. I said, "No thanks" and that I'd rather mourn privately.

The advantages of this new badge are that it's silver and sparkly. The disadvantage is that it says "5 Years" which roughly translated means "things sure didn't turn out the way I planned". Also disadvantageous, it's sparkly visage attracts customers who think they've struck gold to have found such a seasoned professional to answer their questions. This renders useless my standard go-to response for all customer inquiries: "I don't know. I just started yesterday.

In related news, five years is the length of time I've been threatening people with facial mutilation apparently. When customers exit the fitting rooms, I always offer to take the items they don't want to buy. I have been saying "I'll take your nos" which, it was only recently pointed out to me, sounds exactly like "I'll take your nose". Looking back now, there has been a trend of people stepping back and protecting their faces when confronted with this offer. On those occasions, I usually thought they hadn't heard me so I would advance towards them and repeat it louder, "I'LL TAKE YOUR NOS!"

Shake It

I was watching TV and saw an ad for the shake weight. Like everything else I see advertised on TV, I wanted one. But things on TV cost money. I decided to make my own weights. I used toilet paper rolls, a shitload of spare change and duct tape. As I sat on the floor constructing them I tried not to think about how poor I am. The good news is they kind of shake. The bad news is I'll probably need the spare change for bus fare at the beginning of the month.

In the interest of meeting new people and being sociable, I went out with a girl from work and her friends on Saturday. She and her one friend were very nice and fun. The second friend lulled me into a false sense of security by graciously sharing her wine so I was completely unprepared when she turned out to be a raving lunatic. It was probably my mistake to go with them to The Dome. It was Pride week and also the night of the Black Eyed Peas* concert so the place was crazy. We waited in line for an hour. My new "friend" passed the time by screaming at the bouncer every time he let in old or unattractive people. Despite this, we were still granted entry when we finally reached the front of the line. The Dome was absolutely packed, but this girl thought there were not enough white guys and complained very loudly that she was being hit on by only Asians and Middle Easterners (For the record, I didn't notice anyone of any race expressing even mild interest). She started drawing attention with her boisterous racism and I was pretty sure we'd probably be murdered or at least beat up. Mercifully, the club closed and everyone scattered. I thought we would be able to control her once we'd escaped to the street but somehow she managed to get in a fight with a woman over a cab and rounded off the night slapping a gay man. So yeah, don't drink with people you don't know.

*My parents were in town last weekend and my Mom shared a hotel elevator with Will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas. Apparently he had to prompt her to press the button for the floor she wanted. She wasn't starstruck, she just forgets things.

That's Her

Should I be concerned about this:

I was walking down my street. Two guys from the house next door were waiting at the bus stop. After I walked past them, one said to the other "That's her."

Now what could that possibly mean? I don't look like any celebrities. They saw me leave my house so they knew I lived next door. Have I been a bad neighbour? I don't play loud music, I don't smoke outside (anymore), I don't put garbage out on the wrong day.

I became paranoid that the only things they knew about me were things they learned by watching me through my windows which, as friends have noted, have no blinds. I wasn't paranoid enough to actually put up blinds. This happened several weeks ago and I've only just now gotten around to putting up some sheer curtains...basically what I'm trying to say is if you find any naked pictures of me on the internet, let me know. Thanks.

Infomercials, The Best of

If you think you suck at life, take a look at these morons.

I'd Tap That

I can't think of anything to write so here's some pictures from my most recent trip home to the country. It turns out there's all kinds of fun activities right in the woods behind my parent's house! Chopping wood, checking to see if the honey bees are up from their winter nap, tapping maple trees and collecting sap... I didn't really do any of those things, but I took some pictures so it looks like I did.

Make a Colour Impact!

Remember when I wrote about The Colour Story, a deeply complicated system for arranging clothing so that it is both pleasing to the eye and reminiscent of a favourite childhood tale? Well, forget about that! That is sooo last week! Now it's all about Colour Impact. While with The Colour Story, you alternate between two complementary colours, with Colour Impact you use many colours to create a colour explosion. It's less about using the colours to tell a story and more about surprising the eye with a unexpected colour twist. At least that's how it was explained to me by my boss recently.

Looking at the sample wall she had just arranged using these new principles, I thought I understood.

"So it's just completely random."
"No."

I waited for further details. When it became clear none were forthcoming, I searched her face for signs she would eventually tire of trying to teach me new things. And for a second I saw a glimmer of someone who wasn't all "I love my job" and "What we do here is important". I believe I saw a glimpse of an actual rational human being. I saw someone who, like me, feels deep rage knowing that someone at corporate headquarters is actually drawing a salary to come up with this colour garbage.

Now, I can't have her turning into a sympathetic, relatable person. That would ruin my day. Doesn't she know she's a recurring character in my blog and now that Shorty's gone she's the sole antagonist?

Not to worry. She didn't disappoint me. Before she went home for the day she left me with final instructions to "keep the colours flowing". WTF? If we hadn't just spent half the day on this colour bullshit, I'd probably have assumed she was inviting me to meet her out behind the store for a hit of acid. (I suspect my drug slang is out of date, but I'm not sure what the kids are calling it these days.)

In other colour news, guess who won't be making a Colour Impact? Employees at your local Walmart come February 2010, that's who. For over a year now, there have been rumblings that there will be a new dress code requiring that everyone wear black pants and a white shirt. You know, so Walmart can maintain its classy image.

Many of my colleagues don't seem to be nearly as outraged as I am, so I have been taking every opportunity to plant seeds of discontent citing impracticality and cost as suitable reasons for an uprising.

I'd really like to stand my ground on this dress code issue. If I only had to contend with my boss, I'm sure I could hold out; I delight in defying her. But the matter would eventually rise to the attention of our new store manager who is impossibly adorable. If he smiled and said please, I'd probably agree to wear a grass skirt and a bra made from a coconut shell.